221 Babbles
by theangelshavemymind
Summary: A series of Sherlock stories. 221B chapter format. Johnlock, angst, adventure, Moriarty, boredom, tea, mysteries, etc. Please read & review!
1. Ballroom

**Author's Note: This is my first time trying this kinda format for a story. Please let me know how I do! I'm hoping to have 221 chapters, going through both Series 1 and Series 2. Please review and thanks for reading!**

* * *

Sherlock hurls the dice at John and yells, his deep voice echoing through the flat.

"You're wrong! It's not Mrs. White in the Kitchen with the knife! It's the victim in the Lounge with the revolver!"'

John stares at Sherlock and then at the game board in front of him. They've been playing Cluedo for nearly an hour and each time John makes an accusation, Sherlock yells that he's wrong, and throws one of the game pieces at him.

"How is it possible for the victim to have done it?" John asks, sitting back and crossing his arms.

"It was a suicide," Sherlock says passively.

John sighs. "One of the suspects has to do the crime, not the person who was killed. It's not in the rules, Sherlock."

"Well then the rules are wrong!'

"No. They're. Not!"

"John, Dr. Black killed himself with the revolver in the lounge. Everything points to that solution."

"Sherlock, you're wrong."

"I am not!"

"Yeah, you are!"

Sherlock growls and grabs the game board, lifting it off the table and scattering the pieces and dice everywhere. John watches as he places the board against the wall above the fireplace. Then Sherlock grabs the dagger from where it was stuck on the mantelpiece and stabs it into the game board, right in the middle of the ballroom.


	2. Bow tie

"You're a bloody idiot, Anderson!"

Sherlock yells it loud enough for the whole of Scotland Yard to hear and then he stomps toward the door, Anderson's snively voice coming from behind him.

"I know that you faked that evidence, and I'll prove it!"

Sherlock rounds on him, towering over the forensics member.

"If I were you," Sherlock says, his voice low, "And if I valued my life, I would back off."

He storms out of the building, slamming the door on a very wide eyed Anderson.

Stuffing his hands into his coat he decides to walk back to the flat rather than take a cab. He needs some time to cool off. John's been a bit annoyed as of late and the last thing he needs is a severely pissed Sherlock.

Sherlock comes home to find John passed out on the sofa, his laptop in his hands, and a half eaten bowl of popcorn on the seat next to him.

Sherlock walks over to him and grabs the laptop from his limp hands, moving to the side so that he can cover John with a blanket.

He sets a pillow behind John's lolling head and makes sure that the army doctor won't wake up with a crick in his neck. Then Sherlock grabs the laptop and stares with confusion at the strange man on screen with a blue bow tie.


	3. Bedridden

John almost drops the tray he's carrying as a shout comes from Sherlock's bedroom.

"John! Where are you? I'm dying!"

John opens the door and looks at Sherlock.

Sherlock is sprawled out on his bed, one leg dangling over the side, his arms stretched out, palms up as though he's Jesus.

"You're not dying Sherlock," John says, setting the tray down on the nightstand, "You're just sick."

Sherlock looks up at John with puffy eyes and rasps, "No. I'm dying."

John rolls his eyes. "You're not. Now sit up so your nose doesn't clog up again."

Sherlock does and John sits down and takes his temperature.

"I'm telling you, John," Sherlock says from around the thermometer in his mouth, "I am dying."

John sighs and looks at the thermometer. Sherlock's been running a high fever for the past few hours and John needs it to go down.

John passes Sherlock the chicken noodle soup from the tray and says, "Eat this, and don't complain that eating is just transport, you need food."

"I'm cold, John," Sherlock says, shivering slightly.

John wraps him in a blanket and gets up to go get some medicine.

As he starts to leave Sherlock yells, "You can't leave! What if I pass on while you're gone?"

John groans. There are few worse things than Sherlock Holmes bedridden.


	4. Bond

**Thank you for the review!**

**I am going to take requests on this story, and it will be going all the way through Series 1, 2 and beyond.  
**

**So any ideas or things you would like to see... let me know!  
**

* * *

"So what is the point of this movie?" Sherlock asks as he comes to sit next to John on the sofa.

"It's just a good movie, Sherlock, so shut up and watch it," John says, plopping a bowl of popcorn next to the moping detective as the movie begins.

"What's the name of this movie?"

"Goldfinger."

"That's a stupid name. A finger made of gold is horribly illogical."

"Shut up, Sherlock."

"Who's that?"

"James Bond."

"Why Bond? What is the significance of that last name?"

"I don't bloody know. Just watch the movie."

"Isn't he double o nine or something like that?"

"Double o seven, Sherlock. Seven."

"Oh."

"Are you going to be quiet now?"

"Maybe. But is there going to be a sex scene?"

"Why would you care if there was a sex scene?"

"I was just wondering. I don't want you spilling popcorn all over me."

"I'm not going to spill popcorn on you."

"Why is that woman painted gold?"

"To kill her."

"What? Painting her gold killed her?"

"Yeah. I think she like suffocated somehow."

"That's ridiculous. You can't suffocate by being painted gold. Humans aren't worms."

"What do worms have to do with anything?"

"They breathe through their skin. Honestly John, don't you know anything."

"I knew it was a bad idea."

"What?"

"Trying to get you to watch James Bond."


	5. Boyfriend

"You were supposed to get milk! I told you to get milk!" John shouts at Sherlock as they enter Scotland Yard.

"I was out on a case!" Sherlock yells back.

Anderson snickers and whispers something to Donovan. Then they both come to stand in front of the arguing detective and blogger.

"Did you two have a row?" Anderson sneers.

"It's none of your business if we did or not," Sherlock hisses pushing past him.

"Oh we were just wondering when we're going to hear the happy announcement, unless you two are already breaking up," Donovan muses.

John and Sherlock both groan and Sherlock speeds up and ducks through the door ahead of him.

Donovan comes to stand next to John saying, "You deserve some sort of medal. Putting up with him. I could never do it."

"You must really love him," Anderson butts in, stressing the word love.

"John!" Sherlock shouts from the other room "Get over here!"

John starts to go but he hears Anderson whisper, "He even comes when he's called."

That puts John over the edge. He whirls around and punches Anderson squarely in the jaw.

As Anderson nurses his jaw Donovan says to John, "Sherlock really did get lucky to snag you."

John restrains from punching the sergeant as well as he says loudly, "Sherlock is not my bloody boyfriend!"


	6. Bear

John is woken by a tapping sound. He gets up from his bed and opens the door to reveal a sleepy looking Sherlock.

"What is it?" John asks, letting out a very large yawn.

Sherlock peers into John's room as though he's looking for others and then he whispers, "I had a nightmare."

John has to hide his smile. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective is standing in front of him because he's just had a bad dream.

"Can I come in?" Sherlock asks fingering his blue robe.

"Uh, I guess so," John says stepping aside so Sherlock can enter.

Sherlock runs to John's bed and ducks under the covers, curing up into a ball and shutting his eyes.

John sighs. Sherlock can be so childlike at times.

He crawls into the other side of the bed and turns his back to Sherlock. John isn't bothered by the consulting detective being so close to him. They've done stranger things on cases.

John is on the brink of sleep when he feels long arms slide around his middle, pulling him close to their owner.

"Sherlock?" John mumbles sleepily, "What are you doing?"

"Shush," Sherlock replies, burying his nose into John's neck, "I'm trying to sleep."

"Why are you holding me?"

Sherlock grips John tighter. "Because you remind me of my old teddy bear."


	7. Breakfast

John gags as he comes downstairs.

Holding his nose he tries to see through the haze of smoke that covers everything. What has his flatmate done this time? A list of possibilities runs through John's mind. Blown up the kitchen? No, he already did that. Set the sofa on fire? No, he loves that sofa too much. Experiment gone wrong? That could be it.

John prays that the rancid odor filling his nostrils isn't toxic as he coughs and says, "Sherlock! Where the hell are you?"

"Kitchen!" Sherlock's deep voice yells through the smoke.

John shuffles in the direction of what he hopes is the kitchen and finds a new wall of black smoke.

A cry of, "Bugger!" comes from ahead of him and he steps forward toward Sherlock's voice until he crashes into the kitchen table.

He can see Sherlock's blurry form running around the smoky kitchen, trying to cover pots and pans that are emitting great puffs of smoke and giving off a stench worse than the dead.

John coughs and tries to see through the smoke. Sherlock's face comes into view and he drags John out of the kitchen and into his room, away from the dark smoke.

Shutting the door, Sherlock turns around and says, "Sorry about the smoke."

"What were you doing?" John asks.

"Making breakfast."


	8. Baffling

John wakes in the middle of the night to a melody.

He pulls his robe on and walks sleepily down the stairs and into the living room. Sherlock is there, back to John, violin under his chin, eyes closed, head bowed.

The saddest song John has ever heard is floating in the air as Sherlock plays. It's lonely, and sorrowful, the notes minor and drawn out as the bow slides effortlessly across the instrument.

Sherlock sways to the music, his fingers vibrating over the strings, eyebrows furrowed as he pours his heart into the sound.

John stands there watching in awe and wonder. He doesn't realize that he's gone unnoticed until Sherlock turns around and looks with surprise at him.

"John," Sherlock whispers, lowering the violin.

"What was that?" John says referring to the forlorn melody.

Sherlock wipes a tear from his eye and says softly, "Just a memory."

"Tell me about it," John says, stepping forward and taking the violin from his friend's hands and setting it on a table.

Sherlock sighs. "I can't."

"Yes you can."

Sherlock looks up at John. He says quietly, "I wrote it for mummy." Tears form in his blue eyes. "She never got to hear it."

Sherlock begins to sob. John takes him in his arms and holds him through the sobs, reflecting on the fact that Sherlock like this is baffling.


	9. Bomb

"Brought you a little getting to know you present," Sherlock says holding the missile plans aloft.

He looks round the darkened pool. "That's all what it's been for, isn't it. All your little puzzles, making me dance, all to distract me from this."

He glances at the doors. The man has to be here, the man called Moriarty. He has to be at the pool.

A sound from behind him makes Sherlock turn around. A man wearing a bulky coat steps out from a side door.

"Evening," John Watson says, his hands in the pocket of the coat, "This is a turn up, isn't it Sherlock."

"John," Sherlock says, fear creeping into his voice, "What the hell…"

"Bet you never saw this coming," John says.

Sherlock begins to step toward John, his mind racing a million miles an hour. Why is John here? Where is Moriarty? Sherlock notices that John is blinking fast. It only takes the detective a second to see that John's blinks spell out S.O.S.

"What would you like me to make him say next?" John says as he slowly starts to pull open the coat.

And now Sherlock sees why. Why John looks so nervous, why the blogger is speaking in a voice that doesn't seem to be his own.

It's all because John is strapped to a bomb.


	10. Boring

"Consulting criminal. Brilliant," Sherlock says, pointing the gun at Moriarty's head.

"Isn't it," Jim croons, "No one ever gets to me. And no one ever will."

"I did," Sherlock says, cocking the gun.

"You've come the closest. But now you're in my way."

"Thank you."

"Didn't mean it as a compliment."

"Yes you did."

"Yeah okay I did. But the flirting's over Sherlock. Daddy's had enough now. I've shown you what I can do. I've cut loose all those people, all those little problems, even thirty million quid just to get you to come out and play. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear. Back off. Although I have loved this. This little game of ours, playing Jim from IT, playing gay. Did you like the little touch with the underwear?"

"People have died"

"That's what people do!"

Jim's voice echoes through the pool.

"I will stop you," Sherlock says, fingering the gun.

"No you won't," Jim replies.

Sherlock looks to John. "You okay?"

"You can talk, Johnny Boy," Jim says coming to stand behind John.

"Take it," Sherlock says quickly, holding out the missile plans.

"What? Oh," Jim says, his dark eyes glinting, "That. The missile plans." He takes the plans and presses his lips to the USB while keeping his eyes locked with Sherlock's.

He eyes flick back down to the USB and then up to Sherlock as he speaks.

"Boring."


	11. Back

"No you won't!"

Jim's singsongy voice hangs in there air and then Sherlock's kneeling in front of John.

"Alright? Are you alright?" Sherlock asks, his fingers working at the straps of the bomb.

"Yeah, yeah. Yeah I'm fine," John breathes.

Sherlock flings the coat away as John yells his name. Sherlock looks at John and then runs outside to look for Moriarty, before coming back inside and pacing back and forth.

"Are you okay?" John asks from where he's resting.

"Me. Yeah fine. I'm fine," Sherlock says quickly, itching the back of his head with the barrel of the gun. He looks at John. "That uh, that thing that you, uh, did, um, that you offered to do, that was, um, good."

"I'm glad no one saw that," John replies softy.

"Hmm?"

"You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk."

"People do little else."

They smile at each other and John starts to get up. And then he notices the red dot of the sniper's rifle.

A voice rings through the pool. "Sorry boys! I'm so changeable! It is a weakness with me. But to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness. You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't." Sherlock looks at John and they both know that Jim is back.


	12. Bee Gees

"I would try to convince you, but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind," Jim says, his voice going high.

Sherlock looks toward John. John nods. They both know what has to be done. Jim can't get away. This crazy mastermind must be stopped and rather than letting him just kill both of them, they can put a stop to him as well.

"Probably my answer's crossed yours," Sherlock says.

He aims the gun at the coat, eyes fixed on the blue blinking lights of the still active bombs. He looks up at Jim and their eyes lock. Jim tilts his head to the side, his eyes changeling Sherlock's limits.

Suddenly "Stayin' Alive" blares through the pool.

Jim sighs and says, "Do you mind if I get that."

"Oh no please, you've got the rest of your life," Sherlock replies coldly.

Jim proceeded to have a conversation with the unknown caller, mouthing "Sorry" to Sherlock as he speaks.

He turns suddenly yelling, "Say that again! Say that again, and know that if you're lying to me, I will find you and I will skin you. Wait," He looks at the ceiling and then says to Sherlock, "Sorry wrong day to die."

"Oh, did you get a better offer?" Sherlock asks.

Jim leaves while still conversing with the person.

Sherlock looks at John as they come to the realization that their lives were just saved by the Bee Gees.


	13. Bus

"What are you typing?" Sherlock asks, riffling through the morning paper.

"Blog," John replies.

"About?"

"Us."

"You mean me."

"Why?"

"Well you're typing a lot." The doorbell rings and Sherlock muses, "Alright then. So what we got?"

John continues typing, as Sherlock goes to answer the door. He's been slightly annoyed with the detective as of late. Ever since the pool incident they've been on good terms, but Sherlock has gotten cockier as time goes on. John thinks that he might be taking the whole Jim Moriarty thing a bit too seriously.

Sherlock comes back in and grabs his laptop, saying, "Just the post." He types something and shuts the laptop with a bang. Turning to John he says, "I'm bored."

John stops typing and looks at his sulking friend. "Well, find a way to entertain yourself."

"You're supposed to do that."

"Well I'm busy."

Sherlock groans and John looks back at his blog. He clicks over the new comment. It's from Sherlock:_ I didn't steal the bus. I borrowed it. And it's not as if the tourists seemed to mind._

John shakes his head and says, "Sherlock, we're in the same room. You can talk to me."

"But you're boring," Sherlock drones, "and besides, you got the facts wrong. I didn't steal anything. I merely borrowed that bus."


	14. Breath

John's head breaks the surface of the water.

He gasps for air and splutters out, "Sherlock w-"

Sherlock. Where's Sherlock? He should have come up by now.

Something brushes his hand. He looks at the dark mass. _Oh god no._

John grabs Sherlock's limp form around his middle and hauls his face up out of the water. Then, with a burst of sudden strength, he swims through the murky water until he reaches the edge of the lake, still supporting Sherlock all the while.

John drags Sherlock's body up onto the muddy ground. He turns the unresponsive detective over, all of his doctor instincts kicking in. No heartbeat. _Oh god. God no._

He begins pumping his hands on Sherlock's chest, checking every now and then to see if he's getting a reaction. Nothing.

John begins to panic.

"You're not dying on me."

He doesn't know who he's talking to. Sherlock can't hear him. They're alone at the bloody lake that Sherlock insisted would make a good escape by jumping into it.

John places two fingers on Sherlock's neck. Stillness. He crashes his hands down onto Sherlock's chest, making Sherock's body twitch. Still nothing.

John tilts Sherlock's head toward him. He lowers his head and clamps his mouth firmly onto Sherlock's. He pinches Sherlock's nose and begins breathing for Sherlock. He checks for life again, but there's nothing, not even a breath.


	15. Beginning

**Just call me the worst person on the planet for leaving this story with a cliffhanger like that. So sorry, old chaps. I should be able to update this regularly again, seeing as I found that I actually have almost 40 of these little 221B stories. Oh the things you can find on your computer when you're browsing through your horribly unorganized stories.**

**Reviews are always wanted! Thanks for reading! Sorry for not updating!**

* * *

John places his warm lips against Sherlock's cold ones again. _He can't die. He's not going to die._

John sends air into Sherlock's lungs again and again, taking care to check for life between tries.

Finally Sherlock comes back to him.

Sherlock lets out a hacking cough and water spurts from his mouth. He gasps and hacks for a good two minutes and then he turns to John.

"John."

Sherlock's voice is scratchy and he puts a shaking hand out to the doctor. John grabs it and pulls Sherlock close, mumbling reassurance.

"It's okay. I've got you. You're gonna be okay."

Sherlock coughs again and his body shakes horribly in John's arms.

John hugs Sherlock tighter and runs his hand through the wet midnight curls.

"I thought," Sherlock's raspy voice says, "I thought that I died. I thought it was the end."

John pulls Sherlock away so he can look at him. Sherlock looks so scared, but he also looks beautiful.

Suddenly Sherlock leans forward and speaks, his lips close to John's.

"Thank you, John."

Sherlock kisses John softly. John grabs Sherlock and pulls him close to him, crashing their lips together.

When they finally break apart, John takes Sherlock's hand in his and says quietly, "It's not the end, Sherlock." He kisses Sherlock again and whispers, "It's a beginning."


End file.
